


the blessed unrest

by deathsweetqueen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Harlequin Novels as a Coping Mechanism, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Insecure Tony Stark, M/M, Multi, Non-Conventional Soulmate Relationships, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23665912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathsweetqueen/pseuds/deathsweetqueen
Summary: Captain America hates him.He was sort of expecting that, but to have the man staring down at him with unbelievable contempt, well, he’s not lying, it does sting.One moment, he’s blasting Loki into a well-earned sense of modesty, and then, Steve Rogers is facing him with that condemning smile on his face, saying that “you’re all about style, aren’t you?”To be fair, they’re both giving as good as they get, and then, Rogers is retorting that “I’ve known men worth ten of you with none of that”, and suddenly, time is freezing all around them.Tony curls his fingers around his right wrist, his thumb settling over where the words are written over his pulse point:James Buchanan Barnes.“Yeah, I know,” Tony says, quietly, and then, the entire laboratory is burning.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 182
Kudos: 2163
Collections: God Bless America, Tony Stark Bucky barnes Steve Rogers, WinterIronShield*





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ruquas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruquas/gifts).



> All of the books listed in this fic are my personal recommendations if you're interested in getting into Harlequin romance novels.
> 
> Thank you so much to high_functioning_sociopath for betaing the fic!
> 
> This was written for Ruquas, who won a commissioned fic for the amount of comments they left during the Stuckony Server's comment spree!

Captain America hates him.

He was sort of expecting that, but to have the man staring down at him with unbelievable contempt, well, he’s not lying, it does sting.

One moment, he’s blasting Loki into a well-earned sense of modesty, and then, Steve Rogers is facing him with that condemning smile on his face, saying that “you’re all about style, aren’t you?”

To be fair, they’re both giving as good as they get, and Tony even leans into that steely edge of anger that he very rarely gets to channel and he’s telling Rogers that he’s a “wind-up monkey that wouldn’t understand individual thought if it bit him on the ass”, and then, Rogers is retorting that “I’ve known men worth ten of you with none of that”, and suddenly, time is freezing all around them.

Tony curls his fingers around his right wrist, his thumb settling over where the words are written over his pulse point: _James Buchanan Barnes._

“Yeah, I know,” Tony says, quietly, and then, the entire laboratory is burning.

* * *

Tony is in the wormhole, and the Chitauri mothership is turning to flames in front of him, and strange, he hadn’t thought things would be able to burn in space, but if he focuses hard enough, the scent of scorched meat is burning his nose.

And then, he’s falling, he’s falling, and for some reason, James Buchanan Barnes is the person he’s thinking of, when he falls.

* * *

When Tony walks up to the sound of the Hulk’s deafening roar, Steve Rogers is crying over his seemingly dead body. Tony can see the tear tracks all over his handsome, pale, dirt-smudged face.

“Why are you crying?” he accuses, as he tries to sit up in the metal coffin that he’d thought would be a fun way to fight supervillains.

Steve rubs at his eyes, furiously, his hair just as filthy and matted with sweat against his head.

“I’m not crying,” he says, defensively.

“You were crying,” Tony retorts. He looks around at Thor and the Hulk. “Please tell me that no one kissed me,” he tells them. He holds a hand to his heart. “I’m saving myself for marriage.”

Steve snorts and helps him to his feet, albeit with a little stumble, and his body sways.

Steve slings an arm around his waist, keeping him upright.

“So, Loki?” Tony looks at the others, wearily.

* * *

After Loki is effectively imprisoned and gagged, and the others are resting in the parts of Tony’s penthouse that weren’t trashed by Loki and the Hulk’s intervention, Tony finds himself alone in front of the large window, as the sun begins to dip past the horizon, and the stars twinkling bleakly in the pink-orange sky.

The city is completely trashed.

Tony’s going to have to do something about that.

“You know, we had skyscrapers back then. I just didn’t expect it to look like that.”

Tony cracks a smile. “Did you ever make it up to the Empire State Building?”

“No,” Steve says, shaking his head. “It was too far, honestly, and my ma, until she died, she had a thing about me crossing the bridge, because she thought it’d be too dangerous for me. ‘Cause, you know, I was so sick.”

“Yeah, I can see that. No offence, but I’ve seen your file and pictures. I’m surprised you even made it to that tent at the Expo, honestly,” Tony muses.

Steve grimaces. “You’ve seen photos.”

“I’ve seen photos,” Tony admits. “Don’t worry, you were cute.”

Steve snorts. “In what universe?”

“In this universe, believe me,” Tony insists. “I would’ve gone out with you in an instant.” He pauses. “But I suppose that isn’t exactly a metric of your attractiveness because I go out with and sleep with everyone.”

Steve’s face turns taut at the edges, just for a fleeting moment, but Tony catches the newfound tension in his reflection and wisely keeps his mouth shut on the topic of his promiscuity – Steve Rogers’ loyalty to Bucky Barnes is legendary, written into the fabric of this nation, and frankly, the man wouldn’t even be Captain America today, studied by everyone in elementary school, if he didn’t love Bucky Barnes; he can’t imagine it’s easy for him to be faced with his best friend’s soulmate being a total slut.

“But yeah,” he says, awkwardly. “The sentiment still stands. You were hot.”

“No one ever thought so back then,” Steve says, wistfully. “Plus, you know, it might have something to do with this-”

He rolls up the sleeve of his shirt to show Tony his bare wrist.

Tony had forgotten that Steve doesn’t have a soulmate.

“They thought I was… _wrong_ ,” Steve says, like he’s confessing some dark, shameful, twisted thing.

Considering how backward they used to be in the 1940s, Tony isn’t surprised that’s what they thought of him.

“They didn’t know any better,” Tony reassures.

Steve lifts an eyebrow. “So, what, things are better now? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Oh, well, when my mother saw that my soulmate was a dead man, she didn’t react so well. My father, even unhappier than her,” Tony tells him.

“What was she objecting to?” Steve asks, confused.

“The fact that he was a man, oh, and him being a white man,” Tony drawls. “The only redeeming fact that your friend had was the fact that he wasn’t Muslim.” He pauses. “He wasn’t Muslim, was he?”

“No,” Steve says, reassuringly.

“Oh, well, I don’t actually have a problem with it, but I don’t put it past my mother to rebirth herself so that she can give me shit for it,” Tony explains. “And yeah, I mean, they’d probably look at it kind of weirdly if you showed them your bare wrist, but no one’s going to spit on you in the streets.”

“That’s great,” Steve says, dryly.

“So, yeah, hopefully, that makes you feel better,” Tony says, carefully. He pats him on the forearm (holy shit, that bicep is firm). “And I can take you to the Empire State Building, if you’d like?”

“Yeah?” Steve turns to him in surprise.

“Yeah, sure,” Tony drawls. He pauses. “Unless of course, the Chitauri destroyed it. J, did the Chitauri destroy the Empire State Building?”

“They did not, sir,” JARVIS replies promptly.

“Okay, good. I’ll take you to the Empire State Building then,” Tony says, cheerfully. “You know, after we’ve cleaned up New York a bit, or the press will descend us like we decided to go on a serial-killing spree.”

Steve’s eyes draw skyward. “You know, that’s going to take some getting used to.”

“What?” Tony asks, confused.

“Your… uh, your voice in the ceiling,” Steve says, awkwardly.

“He’s not a voice in the ceiling,” Tony explains, patiently. “He’s JARVIS. Just Another Rather Very Intelligent System. He’s an artificial intelligence. His voice exists everywhere. I just have his speakers set up there, so it makes him look doubly powerful when people meet him for the first time.”

“You have a sadistic edge, don’t you?” Steve asks, for a moment.

“Have to get my kicks where I can. Come on, I’m starving.”

* * *

After some time, the relationship between Tony and Steve begins to change.

It really starts when Natasha takes a picture of Steve’s ridiculously tiny room at the SHIELD barracks, with the bare walls and the single sink for one and the bed too small to fit his long legs.

It makes an unpleasant feeling rise in his chest, like guilt and a desperate desire to help someone blended together, and he closes the photo before he can linger on it for much longer.

Tony stares at the wall for a moment, and then sighs, grinding his teeth and jumping to his feet.

“Okay, J, road trip.”

“May I ask what your intended destination is, sir?” JARVIS asks curiously.

“SHIELD.”

“Oh,” JARVIS says, lamely. “Why?”

“Because Captain America needs our help.”

It makes him a little giddy on the inside to say that, like he’s still that six-year-old boy that dresses up as Captain America, coupled with trashcan shield and the little winged helmet.

* * *

No one wants to help Tony find where Steve’s room is, which is fine because JARVIS never actually left SHIELD’s systems and so, JARVIS keeps texting him with directions through all the winding corridors.

He comes to a drab, pale door, and his face scrunches up in disdain.

He knocks on the door sharply, three times.

The door opens with some hesitation, like the person on the other side wasn’t expecting to have any visitors or maybe too many visitors.

Steve stands on the other hand, and his face flickers with surprise as he realises that it’s Tony on the other side.

“Hi, Tony,” Steve says carefully.

“Hi, Steve. You should move in,” Tony offers cheerfully.

Steve blinks at him. “Excuse me?”

“You should move into my gigantic tower in the centre of Manhattan, because your current living arrangements are shit and I feel sorry for you and I want to do something nice for you.”

Steve’s jaw goes taut. “I appreciate it,” he says, voice tight, “but I can manage.”

“Twenty bucks says that your feet don’t fit in that bed I can see in there.” Tony’s voice is blunt.

Steve turns red all the way up to his ears. “That’s completely beside the point,” he says stiffly.

“I am offering you a very lucrative deal, you moron,” Tony says scathingly. “It’s a beautiful new floor, all for yourself; you can decorate it whatever way you want.”

Steve scowls at him. “Has anyone ever told you that you don’t get what you want by insulting people?” he demands.

“I don’t really give a shit. I just want you out of this place,” Tony says,] honestly.

Steve shifts, uncomfortably, the anger washing from his face, replaced immediately by utter bewilderment. “Why?”

“Because you deserve better than this, and I can give it you,” Tony offers. He worries his teeth on his lower lip. “I… _fine_ , so, maybe, I feel responsible for you.”

Steve shakes his head. “They told me that it was a Stark Industries’ vessel that picked me out of the ocean,” he says awkwardly. “And that Howard, he… he spent a lot of time looking for me. That doesn’t mean that you _owe_ me-”

“That’s not what I was talking about at all,” Tony cuts him off coldly. “Frankly, if Howard had done anything for you, it would not encourage me to help you at all. No, this is because… well,” he falls quiet, “I don’t have any pieces of him,” he admits grudgingly. “Not like you do. I don’t have any memories, any… anything. I watched a lot of videos when I was a kid, heard the stories, read the comics, but I don’t have pieces of him, and now, you’re here.”

He lifts his eyes, almost defiant.

“And maybe I hated you for it,” he confesses. “Maybe I hated you for standing there and… not being him. Maybe I hated you for making me face something that I have tried very hard to forget over the years. Maybe I hated you for having pieces of him where I couldn’t have any.”

Steve’s face loses that defensive touch, and he looks at Tony oddly, like he’d never expected such emotion from Tony, who is, to the entire world, devoid of human feeling, who is more metal than man.

“If it makes you feel better,” Steve says, a dark undercurrent to his voice. “I wish he was here instead of me.”

Tony shakes his head. “I didn’t mean it like that-”

“No, you did, and I get it. I feel the same way,” Steve tells him, sincere enough that Tony actually believes him.

“Would you… would you come with me, back to the tower?” Tony asks, softer this time, more plaintive.

“Tony,” Steve starts uncertainly.

“You’re all I have of him,” Tony murmurs. “And I think, if I’m not being too presumptuous, that I’m all you have of him too.”

Steve’s throat flexes, and he drags his hand over his face. “Bucky would have… He’d have killed me if I didn’t keep an eye on you,” he says slowly, ruefully.

Tony sniffs, haughty and sure once more. “No one keeps an eye on me.”

“I could,” Steve offers, his voice low. “I could keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t need people to keep an eye on me, Rogers.”

“You don’t _need_ anything, sure, but I want to,” Steve says honestly.

“Is this some creepy, _my best friend died and so I must marry his wife when I return from war_ , Harlequin-esque thing where you want to move in to ‘keep an eye on me’?”

Steve stares at him blankly. “I have no idea what you just said.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Are you coming or what?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Then grab your shit and let’s get going.”

“Wait, did you seriously suggest that I was going to try and _marry_ you because Bucky’s dead?” Steve squawks.

“Let it go, Rogers,” Tony sighs.

“I’d never do anything like that to him,” Steve says heatedly.

“ _Let it go_ ,” Tony insists.

“Besides, you were the one who said you would keep an eye on me because I was all that you had left of your soulmate, so if anyone’s going to make a move on the other person, it’s going to be you,” Steve says haughtily.

“Oh, shut up. You are not even my type,” Tony declares.

“Tony, I’ve seen the news. Everyone is your type,” Steve points out.

Tony stops and looks at Steve. “You called me Tony,” he says softly.

Steve looks a little taken aback, blinking rapidly. “Yeah, I guess I did.” His voice is awkward.

Tony lifts his chin. “I suppose you can continue to do so,” he offers graciously, his lips pursing thin.

“Why, thank you, Your Highness,” Steve retorts sarcastically.

“That’s Your Majesty to you, peasant.”

“So, what’s Harlequin?”

“Excuse me?” Tony asks, confused at the sudden topic change.

“Before you mentioned something about a Harlequin-esque thing,” Steve pushes.

“They… publish romance fiction,” Tony explains, without flinching, without moving his eyes an inch.

Steve lifts an eyebrow, his face somehow brightening in amusement _and_ gaping at him in disbelief. “You read romance fiction?” .

“Shut up, okay? They always have some poor woman and a Greek billionaire or some sheikh that needs love, and she’s always interested in her career until she meets the rich guy that gets her loins running, and then, they’re both a lust-fuelled mess. I recognise the serious consent issues that are rampant through the titles, but I can’t stop myself,” Tony explains in a rush.

Steve fixes him with a grave look. “Then you’ll have to send me some titles.”

Tony sighs. “Sweetheart, I’ve got a whole library full of them.” He pauses. “But you probably meant the print copies, huh? Yeah, I can get you a few.” He eyes him carefully. “Since when does the epitome of manhood read romance fiction?”

“Since when he was a skinny guy, he used to draw for dirty magazines,” Steve replies flatly.

“Really?” Tony asks, eyes sparkling with glee. “You used to draw for vintage porn? Wow, Rogers, you became even more interesting than I ever thought you capable.”

He hooks an arm through Steve’s and stubbornly leads him towards the exit.

When Fury attempts to stop him, Tony gives him the finger.

* * *

The first thing that Tony does when Steve is fully settled in on his floor, in the architectural style of the Forties that had Steve fall emotionally silent when he’d first seen what Tony had done for the place (for a brief moment, Tony was certain that Steve was going to punch him in the face, before he saw Steve wiping at his damp eyes), is send him a collection of the best Harlequin novels that he can find, his guilty pleasures.

The first book that he sends Steve is _Damiano’s Return,_ by Lynne Graham.

A day later, he gets a call.

“I finished reading the book,” Steve says, the minute that he answers the call.

“And?” Tony queries aloud.

“Why is it that they have to write a book where the woman doesn’t understand how good sex can be or know how much she wants it until a man explains it to her?” Steve explodes.

“It’s called dubious consent, and it’s a trope commonly found in these books,” Tony explains.

“But… but surely, I mean, I don’t have much experience to talk about, but wouldn’t women-”

“The idea that woman are blushing virgins that don’t know how their bodies work is a blatant lie propagated by the patriarchy to justify rape culture,” Tony says flatly.

“I… didn’t understand the second half of that sentence,” Steve explains hesitantly.

“Okay, so, there is a significant idea that women don’t know how their bodies work and are unaware that they can actually feel sexual pleasure, because the patriarchy, which is _men_ , don’t want them to know that they can feel sexual pleasure, because that would mean that women have a _right_ to sexual pleasure just as men do, and men don’t like that because history has shown us that men only care about _their_ sexual pleasure,” Tony explains. “And on the other hand, some ‘decent guy’,” and Tony makes sure to use the air-quotes, “can use the fact that women don’t know how their bodies work and are unaware that they can actually feel sexual pleasure to justify pressurising a woman into sex, ergo, rape culture.”

“I just… did he have to be so… such a… well, a _bastard_?” Steve asks incredulously.

“Men in these books never become a ‘new man’,” Tony explains. “He just becomes more masculine and more domineering in order to keep the woman in line.”

“And-and what is with these families?” Steve asks, confused. “Why are they so mean and why do they intervene in _everything_?”

“Because they’re not Anglo-Saxon white,” Tony offers. “And actually, you know, that’s the sort of shit that happened in my mother’s family all the time.”

“Really?” Steve asks, sceptically.

“My mother’s Indian, you know,” Tony explains. “And she would tell me horror stories, like serious fucking horror stories. Like, uh, when my grandmother was young and first married to my grandfather, my great-grandmother threatened to force her to walk naked in front of all of the brothers.”

“What the _fuck_?” Steve hisses.

Tony feels a certain chill run up his spine at the sound of Steve swearing – he’d never thought Captain America did something as gauche as using profanity.

“Oh, yeah, that happened,” Tony agrees. “And when my aunt was married, her mother-in-law lied to her husband and told her that my aunt had called her a very, very rude name in Tamil, to which her husband responded by beating the shit out of her for _years_. She ended up committing suicide.”

“Oh, my God, Tony,” Steve breathes.

“Yeah,” Tony replies, remembering the dark mood that had settled in Stark Manor when they’d gotten the news. “But poor Eden. He literally made her feel so shitty for being shy in bed.”

“You know, it’s strange that you would say that,” Steve muses.

Tony bristles. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s just…” Steve hesitates for an agonising moment. “Well, I always assumed that you were a Damiano sort in bed.”

Tony is equal parts irritated and flattered. “You’ve thought about me in bed?” he asks coyly.

Steve splutters on the other end. “That’s not what…” he sighs. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure you didn’t, Cap. Now, tell me exactly what you thought about me in bed,” Tony says gleefully.

“That’s not… that’s not what I meant at all,” Steve argues hotly. “What I meant to say is that I thought you would be displeased with people who didn’t know what they were doing or who were shy and confused.”

Tony sits up, and all of those flattered feelings wash from his body. “What makes you think that?” he asks flatly.

“I mean… you’re experienced? Like, really experienced? Like, there are sex tapes of you on the Internet, which is really strange, because people actually do that now. They actually film themselves when they’re… making love,” he stumbles over his words, adorably, “and they put it up for others to watch. But yeah, you’re experienced, and I guess I thought you’d like people who were experienced too.”

“I like people who know what they like,” Tony corrects, trying very hard not to take it personally that Steve Rogers has such an awful opinion of what kind of lover he’d be. “And if they don’t know what they like, virgin or not, I have no problems in finding out with them. And if they don’t want to find out, I’m not going to push them or insult them or resent them for that.”

There’s a telling pause on the other end.

“Oh, jeez, I offended you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you kind of did.”

“I guess…” Steve sighs. “Shit, I’m sorry, Tony. I didn’t mean it to come out like I thought you were this terrible guy in bed. I just… I don’t know, I guess you just seemed really confident and-”

“-you translated that into meaning utterly uncaring and ungenerous and focused solely on my pleasure without any sympathy as to my partner’s feelings,” Tony finishes for him snidely.

“Tony, I’m sorry,” Steve says, soft and pathetically earnest. “Fuck,” he curses, much to Tony’s surprise. “I keep putting my foot in the mouth where you’re concerned, don’t I?”

“Yes,” Tony says definitively.

“I’m sorry,” Steve huffs. “But I’m sure I’ll offend you at a later date.”

“I suppose it’s okay,” Tony says grudgingly. “Because I tend to offend people myself. Let’s just say that I have one in the bank now, so the next time I offend _you_ , you don’t get to bitch about it.”

There’s another pause on the other end.

“That sounds fair,” Steve’s voice is careful. “But I get to veto what is an acceptable insult.”

“Only if I can do the same for myself, but you’ll probably know without me even saying it,” Tony muses. “I nurse grudges like little pets, and I perfected the storm-off when I was twelve.”

There’s another pause on the other end.

“I think you have serious issues,” Steve says after a moment.

Tony puts the phone down.


	2. ii.

Two hours later, Tony sends Steve a copy of _The Sicilian’s Virgin Bride_.

* * *

Surprisingly, it isn’t Tony who kisses Steve first, for all that the tabloids and the newspapers and the general public think of him as a raging slut (he is a raging slut, of course, but in a good, consensual, ethical way and he’s not going to apologise for it).

It’s at one of their revels, after a job well done, and the terrorists are in prison, and the Chitauri weapons are in Tony’s possession, because SHIELD had shown up at the end of the battle, and Tony had been pissed off enough that he might have told the agents to go fuck themselves, considering they couldn’t be trusted with a nuke, let alone alien weapons of mass destruction.

They’re relaxing in Stark Tower (he refuses to name it Avengers Tower), and there’s plenty of Asgardian mead going around for Thor and Steve, who can’t get drunk off the good stuff the way that the rest of them can, and even Tony, with his tolerance for earth alcohol, is happily sipping from the flask that Thor passes around.

Steve falls onto the couch beside him, with a heavy thump, that sends Tony up in the air for just a moment before he crashes back down too. When Tony looks over, Steve’s face is flushed and relaxed, all the lines in his brow soft with ease, and Tony can’t help but respond with a broad, toothy grin.

“You having fun, Steve?” he teases.

“Oh, yeah, this is the best party ever!” Steve shouts, and all the Avengers start cheering.

Steve throws his arm around Tony’s shoulder, bringing him into his side with a squeeze that drags the air out of his lungs.

“You know, it’s so-so _cool_ that you let us come and live with you, Tony,” he slurs, his voice full of joy. “I’m so glad you’re here and I’m here.”

Tony leans up and pats him on that muscled shoulder of his. “I’m glad you’re here too, Cap,” he says, amused.

Steve then does something stupid like challenge Thor to a match to the death, and Tony’s frankly terrified of the property damage that will ensue, so he quickly hurtles forward, seizing Steve by the arm.

“Let’s get you to bed, huh, champ?” he soothes.

Steve pouts like he’s still four. “But I’m not tired,” he whines.

“Oh, yes, you are,” Tony says firmly.

Steve comes with him obediently, as Tony leads him back to his floor and into his bedroom.

“I just… I think it’s so nice that we’re all here and we’re all a family and this is… I think this can really work, don’t you?” Steve gushes, as Tony shoves him onto the bed and starts removing his shoes.

“I do,” Tony replies softly.

“But I’m sad,” Steve sighs, letting his head loll across the mattress.

There’s a strange, heavy tightness in his chest. “Why?”

Steve lifts his head to peer into his eyes. “I miss Bucky,” he says miserably.

Tony stops what he’s doing, unable to help the unbearable lurch of his heart in his chest, watching Steve carefully.

“I miss him a lot, Tony,” Steve says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know he was yours, but I loved him too. I loved him… I loved him more than just a pal, you know?”

 _Oh_.

It doesn’t pain him the way it should, having someone confess their love for his soulmate, someone who had known him so much more than Tony ever could; it doesn’t fill him with that hot, hateful jealousy that it should, like he would smother Steve to death with a pillow to keep him away from a man who, for all intents and purposes, belongs to Tony and only Tony, by word of God.

He just watches.

“And you know what’s worse than the fact that the man I love is dead?” Steve says, his tone almost absent.

Tony marvels at how well he’s able to articulate after he’d practically doused himself in Asgardian mead, and softly asks, “What?”

Steve reaches out and touches Tony’s cheek, just over his cheekbone. “The fact that I’m in love with his soulmate as well. How sad am I?”

For a moment, the world stops, and Tony’s hurtling right through empty space, before he halts and breathes and finally processes exactly what Steve just said to him.

“Steve…” he says, carefully.

Steve hushes him, gets on his knees and crawls forward, curling a hand around the nape of Tony’s neck, the tips of his fingers sliding into Tony’s hair.

Tony is frozen to the spot, unsure if he even wants to move.

And then, Steve kisses him, slow and lingering, his mouth moving over Tony’s with spectacular hunger that lights a fire in Tony’s belly, a fire that spreads down to his fingers and toes, and then, it stops, Steve stops, withdraws from him, topples back onto the bed and promptly starts snoring.

“What the fuck was that?” Tony mutters to himself.

* * *

The next morning, Tony wakes up in a bed, with something hot and firm wrapped around his body like an octopus. There’s a warm puff of air against the back of his neck, and Tony’s face scrunches up at the sensation. He looks down at his body, feeling a swell of relief when he confirms that he’s still wearing clothes, unlike a thousand times before, but there’s a pale, strong arm slung around his waist. The hand that belongs to that arm is under his shirt, with a confidence that has Tony raising his eyebrow, flattening against his belly.

The contrast makes Tony pause, just for a minute, at how alabaster the shade of his companion’s skin is against his own almond tone, and then, he’s closing his eyes, trying to wrack his brain as to what happened the night before.

He remembers the Asgardian mead, and Steve, happy and soft with those big, blue eyes of his, and he remembers helping him back to his room, the sad, lonely look in Steve’s eyes, the heart-wrenching confession that he was in love with Bucky and most likely never stopped, and Steve kissing him on the mouth, after he told Tony that he was in love with him as well.

When Tony twists his head, he sees that it’s Steve who’s wrapped around him, clutching Tony to him like he’s terrified of letting him go. He turns in Steve’s embrace, pursing his lips, tracing the line of Steve’s jaw with a single, long piano finger, a little shiver of pleasure curling in his chest.

Steve hums at the gentle touch, and his eyes flutter open slowly, landing on Tony, as awareness comes back to him.

Tony withdraws his hand like he was doing something wrong.

“Morning,” he says breathlessly.

“Morning,” Steve echoes uncertainly. “Uh, Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are we in bed together?”

“Don’t worry, we’re still wearing our clothes,” Tony reassures.

“That only answers like fifty percent of my questions,” Steve points out. “And it still doesn’t explain why we’re in bed together.”

“You got drunk on the Asgardian mead,” Tony offers, “and then, I helped you back to your room, and you fell asleep, and then, I fell asleep, and yeah, so, we’re here.”

“Oh,” Steve says lamely.

“Yeah,” Tony replies in the exact same tone.

He pulls away from Steve’s embrace, and Steve is only too happy to remove his arms from where he’d been cuddling Tony, and Tony feels that dark, acid chill envelop him as he climbs off the bed, making his way over to the door.

“Are we… _not_ going to talk about what happened?” Steve asks, after a moment, just as Tony’s ready to cross the threshold out of Steve’s bedroom.

“Talk about what?” he asks, his voice thin and taut.

“I kissed you last night,” Steve says boldly.

“You did,” Tony agrees. “You even confessed your love for me; after you confessed your love for my dead soulmate, mind you.”

When Tony turns around, there is a guilty, cracked quality to Steve’s expression, and his hands are tangled together in his lap, so tight that they’re a shade paler than the rest of his skin.

“I meant it,” Steve says, quietly but purposefully.

“Which part?”

“The part where I said I was in love with you,” Steve says, lifting his chin almost defiantly. “The part where I said I was in love with Bucky as well. Maybe that makes me pathetic-”

“I never said it made you pathetic,” Tony cuts him off, deliberately, unwilling to allow Steve to nurse thoughts of that nature for a moment longer.

He leans back against the door in case his legs decide to give out from underneath him.

“You’re in love with me,” he says after a moment.

“I am,” Steve answers firmly.

“And you were in love with Bucky as well.”

“I was.”

“And you kissed me last night.”

“I did.”

“Is this…” Tony hesitates for an agonising moment. “Is this because you see me… like an extension of him or something?” he says, the humiliation of having to say this aloud stinging the back of his neck. “Is this because you can’t have him and so you’re... transferring those feelings onto me?”

“No,” Steve says, his voice sharp like flinders of metal. “What I feel for you has nothing to do with my feelings for Bucky.”

“You didn’t even like me at the beginning,” Tony points out.

“Because I saw you, and you were so handsome, and you were so… accomplished and intelligent and you… you leave everyone in the dust, Tony,” Steve says, with a passion that borders on madness. “I saw you, and I… I guess I wanted Bucky to desperately be alive, so he could have you, so he could have the life he should have had with you, and I thought… you didn’t care, you didn’t care that there was this man out there, who lived once and who used to touch your name on his skin and tell me about the life that the two of you would have together, how you’d buy a little house somewhere a little more family-friendly than Brooklyn–not Jersey, of course, but maybe Brighton or Kensington or something–how you might find some kids to take care of, all the little things that he wanted from life, and you didn’t… you didn’t seem torn by the loss because you never even knew him. You never knew how much he loved you without having to meet you, and I guess… I resented you for that.”

“Because he loved me, and you loved him, and he didn’t love you back?” Tony clarifies.

“No,” Steve says, fiercely. “Because he loved you, and he loved me, and you… you should have gotten the chance to fall in love with him. You never did, and that’s not your fault, but I just… I guess I always thought we’d mourn him together, and you didn’t even want to talk about him when I first met you…” he trails off. “I realised what a dick I was being pretty soon after that, and I started to see what a good, decent person you were and I tried, Tony, I really fucking tried,” he says wearily, like this has been burdening him for months. “Your Bucky’s, I _know_ that, but I started falling for you too, with every day that passed, as we got closer. I fell in love with you before I even knew what was going on, and I guess that last night was the first time I felt brave enough to do anything about it.”

Steve stares at him, with those big, pale eyes of his, seated on his bed like he’s afraid Tony is going to hit him for saying half of these things.

Tony makes a small sound at the back of his throat, the noise coming like it’s punched out of him, and he’s crossing the room in great strides, climbing back onto the bed, climbing onto Steve’s lap, perching there like that’s where he’s always belonged, and he covers Steve’s mouth with his own, hard and reckless.

Steve reciprocates vociferously, his big, deft hands tangling into Tony’s hair, and then he parts from him with a loud gasp.

“What does this mean?” he asks uncertainly.

Tony shrugs. “It means I have feelings for you too,” he says bluntly. “I don’t know if I’m in love with you. I’m…” he pauses momentarily. “I’m not good with it,” he confesses. “I’m not good with love. I haven’t…” he runs his tongue over his lower lip, “I haven’t had a lot of that in my life. So, I’m not exactly good at recognising those feelings in myself.”

Steve drags his thumb back and forth across the line of his cheekbone. “Anyone who didn’t love you were idiots, and they regretted it at some point, regretted that they weren’t good enough for you,” he says, firm as though his belief is a fact of the universe.

The feeling stirs in his ribcage, terrible, terrible fire that reaches up into his throat, and he kisses Steve again before he can do something stupid like blurt out _I love you_ when he’s not quite sure what he feels right now.

“What about Bucky?” Tony asks, smoothing his hands up and down Steve’s muscled arms.

Steve’s face draws in, pained. “He’s gone,” he says, his voice rough with a sorrow that Tony thinks is stitched into his skin. “He’s been gone for so long. He… he wouldn’t want us to stop living because he was gone. He’d… he’d want us to keep going, and I think, if it doesn’t sound completely in self-interest, he’d be happy that we found each other after all of these years, that we came together.”

Tony lifts an eyebrow. “He’d be okay with the idea of his best friend putting his hands on the soulmate he never got to touch?”

Steve’s face flushes a bright red, as if he hadn’t considered the possibility that his confession of love would lead to the inevitable event of them tangled together in bed, naked and hot and reaching for orgasms aplenty.

“Bucky was a jealous guy,” Steve muses, “but I’d like to think that, out of everyone else in the universe, the only person he’d want with either of us is each other.”

Tony kisses him softly, gentle and lingering, like he wants to climb inside Steve’s body and never leave. “He’s gone now,” he says, solemn as the grave, “and we have to keep going without him.”

Steve’s mouth lowers to the tendon that joins Tony’s neck and shoulder, setting his teeth there, and Tony loses himself to the sensation of Steve’s body rubbing up against him.

* * *

One year after Steve and Tony get together, they find out that SHIELD is really HYDRA, and suddenly, Steve is on the run, and Tony is watching in his tower, with his lungs in his throat, as there are Helicarriers crashing into the Potomac, and his phone lies limply in his palm after the sixteenth phone call to Steve’s phone that goes unanswered.

The news comes a week later, after Steve is in a hospital bed and Tony has jumped into the fucking Potomac to fish out his shield before it becomes a digestive chew toy for a shark.

He’s sitting beside Steve, in a plush armchair by his bed, his hand linked through Steve’s, as he pushes past the pages of _A Hunger for the Forbidden_ , when Steve speaks, croaks the words out frankly.

“The Winter Soldier,” Steve says, finally.

Tony twists his head to face him, his brow drawn in concern. “Huh?”

“The Winter Soldier, the guy… you know, the guy from the highway,” he rasps.

“Yeah?” Tony prompts carefully.

“It’s Bucky, Tony,” Steve says, voice racked with grief.

Tony sits up, the book falling closed in his lap. “What are you talking about?” he asks, his heart thumping painfully in his chest.

“The Winter Soldier is Bucky,” Steve explains, sweat beading over his brow.

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” Tony says weakly, a tense knot forming in his shoulders and spreading up to his eyes.

“He… he didn’t die when he fell from that train,” Steve says, his tone absent as if he were casting himself back to that moment, where his hand slips and Bucky falls, screaming. “HYDRA got him. He must have… he must have survived.”

Tony shakes his head, shuffles closer to the bed so that he’s perching on the edge. “That doesn’t make sense,” he says, his voice slightly sharp and sliding high. “That doesn’t make any sense. That drop, that impact; no one could have survived that.”

Tony knew that; Tony had calculated it a thousand times over as a child; he had falsely, stupidly thought that if Howard could go around, searching for Steve, then there was a chance that Bucky might be alive too, that Bucky might come back to him, and he wouldn’t be that sad little boy with a dead man for a soulmate.

“Zola,” Steve says, staring up at him with luminous blue eyes.

“Zola? What?”

Steve’s throat flexes. “Zola, he… Bucky was taken prisoner, the whole 107th was.”

“Yeah, at Azzano, I know.”

“He was taken prisoner, and Zola experimented on him,” Steve says haltingly. “That’s what… he was tied to a table when I found him in that base. Zola must have experimented on him.”

“There’s nothing to suggest-”

“His mask came off,” Steve says roughly, cutting off any protest that Tony might have made. “Tony, on that highway, _fuck_ , he was about to kill Natasha, and I intervened, and I started fighting him, and in the middle of everything, I got that mask off, Tony, and it was _him_. It was _him_ , Tony. I know it was-”

He falls silent, staring down at his lap.

“He’s alive,” Tony says after a moment. “He’s really alive?” he asks, hardly daring to hope.

Steve nods. “He… he didn’t even recognise me,” he whispers. “Tony, he looked straight at me and he said, _Who the hell is Bucky_? _Who the hell is Bucky_? I don’t… what the hell did HYDRA do to him?”

Tony’s fingers brush the cut across his hairline. “He did this to you.”

“He stopped,” Steve reassures. “He… I think maybe he recognised me or recognised that I was someone from his past, I don’t know, because he didn’t… he had his mission; his mission was to kill me, and he could’ve, I would’ve let him, and he didn’t. He… he fished me out of the Potomac, Tony.”

A part of Tony wants to rage when Steve says that, so casually, says that he was willing to let Bucky kill him if it would bring him back to himself, take himself out of the universe, even if he loves Tony, and Tony loves him back.

He doesn’t.

“We’ll find him,” he says instead, his voice firm and full of resolve. “We’ll get him back. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Steve drops his forehead onto Tony’s shoulder, unable to keep his head up for a moment long, and Tony winds his hand through his hair.


	3. iii.

Six months later, they find Bucky.

Tony waits for Steve, Natasha, and Sam to bring him back.

Before they left, just after Tony brought to them the intel about the little apartment that Bucky had found in Bucharest of all places, of the old lady in the apartment next to him that he helps with her groceries, of the construction site that he works at, long sleeves hiding the calling card of his metal arm, Steve pulls him aside.

“This changes things,” Steve says, solemn as the grave.

Tony pastes a false, thin-lipped smile on his face. “You mean because my soulmate isn’t dead after all, and you’re having second thoughts?” he taunts slightly.

“Tony,” Steve sighs.

Tony grinds his teeth. “If you’re going to break up with me because you want to go after him instead, or because you think we should be together, go fuck yourself,” he says simply.

“Tony,” Steve says, pathetically earnest.

“Oh, shut up,” Tony says, disgust faintly lining his voice.

“You… you deserve better, you deserve your soulmate,” Steve says quietly. “I can give him back to you, and after everything that Bucky’s been through, he’ll need you more than he needs me.” His eyes grow wide in his face as he pleads with Tony. “He’s already lost so much, Tony. I don’t want him to lose you too.”

“Fuck you,” Tony says roughly, anger beating through his body at a steady rhythm.

Steve reels back in surprise.

“I am not a fucking _goat_ for you and your BFF to trade,” he snarls, his mouth pulling away from his teeth. “You don’t get to play hot potato with me because you’re getting cold feet. You think you’re doing something wrong by fucking your best friend’s soulmate, face it like a man, but don’t pretend like you’re doing anyone a favour here.”

He pretends that it’s just rage that he feels; there’s hurt there too, hurt that he’s so easily disposable, bartered away.

“I’m trying to do the right thing here,” Steve says, stubbornly.

“Fuck _you_ ,” Tony repeats, making a stifled sound of contempt. “You said that you _loved_ me. Was that a fucking lie, Rogers?”

“Of course not,” Steve snaps.

“Then, what are you doing?” Tony demands.

“You… you and Bucky are _soulmates_ ,” Steve insists.

“So?” Tony asks incredulously. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Steve throws his hands up in the air. “For fuck’s sake, Tony, you don’t think it matters that the universe fucking chose the two of you for each other? Where the hell do I stand in that, huh?”

“Because _you’re_ the person I love, Steve, _you_ , no one else,” Tony snaps.

And then, he realises what he’s just said.

Steve stares at him for a moment. “You’ve never said that to me before,” he says, dazed.

Tony sends him a snide, cold look. “Yeah, well, you’ve never tried to fucking _sell_ me like some used whore before,” he tells him, his mouth curling up in disgust.

Steve’s face curdles. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he says, a dangerous edge to his voice.

Tony’s hands clutch at Steve’s face. “Do you love me?” he asks firmly.

“You know I do,” Steve says, his voice unbearably soft.

“I love you. Isn’t that all that matters?” Tony asks, his voice trembling just the slightest at the edges. “I love you, and you love me, and you love Bucky, and maybe, I’ll love Bucky one day too, and we’ll work it out.”

“I don’t-”

“This isn’t 1945 anymore, Steve,” Tony reminds him gently. “There is such a thing as non-conventional soulmate bonds and polyamory.”

“Poly- _what_?”

“We could be together,” Tony offers, “the three of us, if that’s something that you and Bucky want. He’ll…” he purses his lips, “he’ll need us, both of us, to get through this, to come out on the other side. We shouldn’t push him, but… it’s an option. You don’t have to decide now,” he says quickly, “I just… it’s an option that we can all consider.”

“We could really be together, all three of us,” Steve says roughly, as if the possibility hadn’t occurred to him at all.

Tony leans forward and kisses him, gentle and lingering.

“All three of us.”

* * *

Tony takes charge of Bucky’s treatment, much to the surprise of everyone around him.

Honestly, he thinks they thought he was going to lock himself up in the workshop until the situation resolved itself.

But no, Tony’s instrumental in removing that piece of shit arm that HYDRA had fucking _anchored_ to Bucky’s ribcage and replaces it with something beautiful and deadly and frankly, turns him on; he’s the one that pushes for the serious, invasive brain surgery that will remove the triggers from Bucky’s brain; he’s the one that connects Bucky to a therapist best suited to deal with brainwashing and conditioning and the particular brand of post-traumatic stress disorder that prisoners of war suffer after returning home.

In fact, it could even be said that Steve takes a backseat, content to let Tony bond with Bucky in a way that he’d never been able to.

When Bucky’s lying in a hospital bed, with bandages wrapped around his head, slowly coming off the anaesthesia, his head completely shaven clean, but with a thick, dark beard remaining around the lower half of his face, Tony is distinctly reminded of a biker, and the thought sends heat curling through his belly, before he curses himself at his own lack of decency.

The man’s been through hell and back, and the last thing that he needs is Tony treating him like a piece of meat (but if he ate meat and he knew what he was talking about, he’d be saying that Bucky is one mean slice of beef).

So, in an attempt to distract himself from the lingering thoughts about how hot his soulmate is, Tony starts reading aloud.

There are enough stories about reading to loved ones in comas and how that helps them regain consciousness significantly faster and have a more improved recovery that Tony considers it to be a good idea.

He’s reading _The Final Price_ by Patricia Wilson.

“ _You’ve no right to touch me! I’m not your wife any longer!_ She was sobbing out the words, and his eyes narrowed at once. _Nobody else has any right to touch you, and if anyone has, I’ll kill them_. He pulled her face close to his, his teeth bared in a ferocious snarl. _And don’t keep telling me that you are not my wife. If you say it for much longer, I will show you that you are, in no uncertain way_.”

“The guy sounds like a real piece of work.”

Tony’s head jerks to the side, only to find Bucky lying there, his eyes at half-mast, but there’s a peek of pale blue-grey from underneath the long, dark eyelashes, fixed on him and him alone.

Tony lifts the book in response. “They’re all pieces of work,” he says dryly.

Bucky tries to sit up, and Tony helps him, watching his head carefully.

“So why do you read it?” Bucky asks, confused.

Tony shrugs. “It’s a guilty pleasure. Plus, maybe, even though it’s ridiculously out of date and I hate myself for liking it, maybe I’ve always liked the idea of a guy being willing to kill for me.” He pauses. “Wow, that’s unhealthy.”

“Sure is,” Bucky agrees.

Tony stretches out a hand. “Tony. Tony Stark.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and pats the pulse point on his wrist with two metal fingers. “I know,” he says, solemn as the grave. “Bucky Barnes.”

Tony drags his thumb over the name on his wrist. “Yeah. I know.”

Bucky looks away. “I know… I know this isn’t probably what you imagined from us meeting for the first time,” he says quietly.

Tony shrugs. “I was four when it was made blatantly clear to me that my soulmate was dead,” he says bluntly. “My father never minced his words with me. And then, I read through the whole… thing, and it didn’t… well, I was young, and it hurt me. It really did hurt me. I probably carried it with me my entire life,” he muses, “but I tried to live my life the best that I possibly could.”

Bucky clears his throat. “I’m glad.”

“I’m not,” Tony says firmly. “I’d have much rather had you alive and here with me, safe.”

Bucky’s throat flexes, as a myriad of expressions flit across his face, none quite settling on his handsome features. “You… you and Stevie, you’re-”

“We’re seeing each other,” Tony says gently.

Bucky nods. “I’m glad,” he says.

Tony lifts an eyebrow, gaping at him in disbelief. “Seriously?”

Bucky doesn’t flinch from the sight of him. “I…” he swallows hard. “I’m glad you had each other. I’m not… I mean, I don’t… _blame_ you-”

“It didn’t… I mean, it happened…” Tony doesn’t quite know how to phrase this (it might be the most awkward conversation he’s had to have in his entire existence). “He… he wasn’t dealing so well after he woke up from the ice. He… he missed you, missed you a lot, and when he saw me, I think he was hoping for me to mourn you as much as he mourned you, and I-”

“You never knew me to mourn me,” Bucky finishes for him.

Tony nods. “And after that, we started to grow closer, and it just… it just sort of happened,” he says lamely.

“I don’t blame you,” Bucky repeats kindly. “You don’t… you don’t owe me any sort of fidelity or anything, Tony. I’m just… I’m not really made for that sort of stuff anymore,” he says, awkwardly, gesturing to the white bandages wrapped around his head, to the new metal arm. “I’m glad you have each other.”

He sounds so morose, so regretful, that it makes Tony’s chest hurt, and he’s not built for this either; he’s not built to be the kind person in any relationship, to be the one that delivers comfort; he’s brutal and cold and ruthless and unkind, and he’s always worn those words like a shield around his body, but now, now, he wishes he were kinder, sweeter, gentler, someone who deserved Bucky Barnes with all of his broken pieces, so that he could stitch them back together.

“You have us too,” he manages to say.

“Do I?” Bucky asks, his mouth curling ruefully.

Tony reaches across the bed, tangles his fingers with Bucky’s, and watches as Bucky’s face opens wide in shock, staring at the sight (he wonders when it was the last time that someone touched this man without intent to hurt).

“You have us, Bucky,” he says, firmly. “You have me and you have Steve. It’s okay. You’re safe now; we won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”

* * *

When Bucky kisses him for the first time, it’s somewhat of a disaster.

Tony’s cooking; he has the rice on the stove, and he’s swirling a spoon around in the _kadai paneer_ broiling there as well, and his stomach is rumbling.

When he turns around, Bucky is standing there, his hair tied back in a bun pinned up high against the crown of his head, staring down at him with those soulful, solemn blue-grey eyes of his.

Tony offers him a brilliant, toothy smile. “I’m making _kadai paneer_.”

Bucky blinks at him, and then, he stares at the food mixing on the stove. “You’re making _kadai paneer_.”

“I am,” Tony agrees, shifting slightly on his feet in discomfort, wondering if he’d done something wrong.

“ _Kadai paneer_ is my favourite,” Bucky says, his tone almost absent.

“Yeah, I realised. That’s why I made it,” Tony explains. “Now, you can have _kadai paneer_ made by a real Indian.”

Bucky’s lips twitch in amusement. “So, the people that make it at the Indian restaurant aren’t _real_ Indians?” he teases.

“They are,” Tony admits, grudgingly. “I’m just a better cook than all of them.”

“You made my favourite food.”

“I did,” Tony says, slowly, wondering why he kept repeating variations of the same sentence.

“Don’t hate me for this,” Bucky rasps.

Bucky slings an arm around Tony’s waist, and before he can do anything, he’s being drawn against Bucky’s hard, muscled chest. Bucky’s mouth is landing on his before he can utter a single word, and he doesn’t know anything beyond how good it feels to finally kiss Bucky, to clutch at him like this, his fingers in Bucky’s shirt, his tongue slick and skilled in Bucky’s mouth.

When Tony pulls back, the air is tight in his lungs, and he finds it difficult to breathe.

“Fuck,” he says resoundingly.

“My thoughts exactly.”

Tony twists his head, and Steve is standing in the doorway, his expression undefinable.

“Fuck,” Tony says, for a completely different reason, because the last time something had changed in Bucky and Tony’s dynamic, particularly when Bucky ceased to be Tony’s _dead_ soulmate, Steve had decided to do the honourable, stupid, condescending thing, which was to step back and let his best friend (and secretly a man that he loved) and the man he loved (and obviously his best friend’s soulmate) be happy together.

Tony steps away from Bucky and immediately feels a dark, acid chill overtake his body, an unseen thread winding around his heart muscle and tugging him back to Bucky, as if the universe itself doesn’t want the two of them to stop touching.

Tony shrugs it off – he’s never been a slave to his emotions.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he warns Steve.

“Actually,” Bucky says, drawing Tony’s attention. “We sort of had a conversation.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “A conversation?” he repeats, a suspicious edge to his voice.

“Yeah, he, uh, we talked about some things that I didn’t know about and he didn’t know about,” Bucky says, rubbing the back of his neck, sheepishly.

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that we’ve apparently been in love with each other since we were teenagers.”

“Oh,” Tony says lamely.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this wasn’t about the last time that Steve did some stupid, honourable thing. Maybe it’s always supposed to be Tony who gets left out in the cold in this relationship. Maybe this is the moment where Bucky and Steve realise that they’re the perfect pair, soulmates notwithstanding, and where Tony realises that the universe got it wrong, made a mistake, took pity on him, and in fact, Tony is still extraneous, even with a fucking soulmark on his wrist.

Tony’s brow furrows.

“So, wait, if the two of you are planning on dumping me to be with each other, why did you kiss me?” he asks Bucky confused.

Bucky reels back in shock. “Who said we were _dumping_ you?” he asks, his voice sliding high, aghast.

“I just…”

“Tony,” Steve says, full of emotion, as he steps forward. “Tony, oh, Tony, why would we _dump_ you?” he says the word venomously.

“I just… I guess I thought,” Tony stumbles over his words, unable to articulate his insecurity.

Steve saddles up beside him, curling a hand around the nape of his neck, kissing him gentle and lingering until he pulls away and Tony is chasing his mouth, much to his own embarrassment.

“Tony, we wouldn’t let you go for anything,” Steve tells him, unbearably soft but firm.

“Yeah?” Tony says, with an unsure tongue.

“You’re my soulmate,” Bucky says, with a shrug of his shoulders. “And Steve loves you, just like he loves me.”

“Soulmate doesn’t mean love,” Tony reminds him, a hint of melancholy to his voice.

“It does in this case,” Bucky tells him, his pale eyes rapt.

Tony’s throat flexes. “Yeah?”

“You made my favourite food,” Bucky says plainly. “How could I not love you?”

A smile spreads across Tony’s face, quivering at the edges. “You have pretty low standards, Barnes,” he comments.

“Nah, I’ve just been waiting for you for a long time; we both have.”

Tony wrings his hands together, feeling alarmingly ungrounded. “So, what, threesome? One-off, multiple times, committed relationship? What exactly did you two talk about? By all means, tell me what you’ve decided about our relationship,” he says, with only the slightest displeased edge to his voice.

Steve’s face floods red, and Bucky starts staring at his own feet.

Tony snaps his fingers in front of their faces, high and haughty. “Speak, heathens!”

“Remember how you talked about all three of us being together in a relationship?” Steve asks, clearing his throat.

“Yes.”

“So, I, uh, went to Bucky; we were actually talking about something else, and Bucky said-”

“I said I’m glad he found someone who loves him,” Bucky explains. “And then I blurted out the fact that I used to have feelings for him. Stevie was totally stunned, went scarily silent for a few minutes, and told me that he loved me too. I said that it didn’t matter, because you two were together, and you were so good together, and he mentioned this polyamory thing? The three of us in a relationship, equal and committed to each other. That’s… that’s really a thing, huh?” he says, blinking fast and wide.

Tony shrugs, heat in his ribs. “I mean, it varies with success depending on the couple, but… yeah, it happens; it works. Is that…” he chews on his lower lip, “is this really what you want, both of you?”

Bucky nods. “I love you, Tony. I love Stevie too. I love you both, and I’m…” he takes in a deep, steadying breath. “Look, I know I’m the interloper here. The two of you have had years together, and I just sort of inserted myself-”

“No, Bucky, _I’m_ the interloper here-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Tony cuts in, his voice sharp. “If we get into this, the conversation is never going to end. Clearly, all of us are insecure enough that we think that we’re the interloper, and we’re not going to agree that anyone _but_ us are the interlopers. So, I propose couples’ counselling and lots of it. But for now,” he softens visibly, “can we just… I don’t know, I just want to… fuck, I hate feelings,” he says miserably. He closes his eyes, forces himself to acknowledge the fact that he has emotions. “I want you both,” he says without missing a beat. “I have feelings for both of you. I want to have this with you. Do you want this with me?”

“Yes,” Steve says immediately.

“Definitely,” Bucky replies.

Tony chews on his lower lip. “Yeah?”

Steve’s hand works its way into his hair. “Yeah, honey.”

“But just us,” Bucky says suddenly.

Tony looks over at him, his brow furrowing. “Sorry?”

Bucky clears his throat, plastering a ferocious expression on his face that makes Tony blink. “If anyone but the two of us touches you, I’ll gut them like a pig, _liubimiy,_ ” he says, his voice practically a snarl.

Tony just stares at him.

And then, he jumps Bucky, who yelps but allows Tony to drag him down to the floor and kiss him thoroughly, sliding his tongue into his mouth.

When he pulls back, he’s panting, and the colour is high in Bucky’s cheeks.

“You read the book,” Tony says breathlessly.

“I read the book,” Bucky confirms with a toothy grin.

“Uh, not to ruin the moment, because it’s really hot, but isn’t this unsanitary. I mean, the food’s _right_ there-”

Tony sends Steve a withering look, his eyebrow raised.

Steve falls short of what he was going to say and clears his throat. “I’ll, uh, I’ll just join you down there, huh?” he offers.

“You always know the right thing to say, babe,” Tony gushes and flounders for words, when Bucky finds the line of his throat with his blunt teeth.


End file.
